


Taken hold

by Ecthelion1916



Category: Tom Appleby Convict Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecthelion1916/pseuds/Ecthelion1916
Summary: Ever wondered how Jem ended up as a chimney sweep?Well... You better buckle up, because it's a sad little tale





	Taken hold

The rain had begun again, falling as murky streets that never washed anything clean. It pooled in Jems collar until it ran down his neck, making his 6 year old gaunt body shudder with cold. Next to him lay the body of a woman, her face speckled with mud as the drops became heavier, splattering up off the filthy pavement. “Come on mum, yer gettin soaked”, he whined as the tugged on her arm. Lying in a crumpled heap, she didn’t respond, her head and shoulders poking from the covering of the bridge she had sought refuge under the night before. In her semi-conscious condition Jem knew from experience he would not be able to stir her. Under her arm she still cradled a brown bottle, the gin in it almost gone and with it all her earning from the night before and, Jem thought bitterly, any hope of something to ease the gnawing of his stomach.

He pulled again at her arm, trying to get her into the gloomy shadow of the bridge, but the arm crooked around the bottle was surprisingly tight, as if even in her stupor she was aware that her treasure, her lore was about to be taken. Jem had not cried in a long time. Pain was no longer an intruder, but a constant presence that had stolen away his tears, but suddenly they sprung up hot and uninvited to sting his eyes. “She used to hold me like that” he thought, “until the gin got to holdin her.”

In the end he gave up and just sat next to her in the rain until the emptiness of his belly overcame his inertia. He got up and began to wander aimlessly along the bank of the canal, kicking through the puddles with the bare feet. In a little while the rain had eased and the smoggy clouds parted to let the watery sunlight shaft through momentarily. It caught the city ahead in a pool of pale yellow and the mirage of warmth raised Jems spirits, and he set off towards it with a brisk step.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he had come to the city proper, the streets bustling with carts that left deep ruts in the morass of mud. In the distance he could hear the sound of hawkers and venders raising their voices in harsh competition. “A market” thought Jem; an opportunity for a boy fleet of foot and quick of hand to nick a meal.

And a market it was; larger than Jem had ever seen, its name being heralded by the erg of every carriage driver that stopped to unload his passengers: Coventary Gardens”.

He ran along the edge of the crowd, keeping to the shadows and hiding behind broken packing cases and giant barrels of pickled pork. From across the grounds he could hear the sound of a stall holder loudly boasting of his baked goods to any who would stop and listen. Jem did listen, this stomach growling in agreement, and he began to make his way carefully towards the voice.

He was almost there, he could smell it, when suddenly his nose was arrested by something else. It wasn't food, savory or sweet, and yet it was one of the most sweet and pleasurable things he had ever smelt. He turned to the source of this unaccustomed fragrance and was greeted with a sight of equal joy ~ row upon row of hand carts, each overflowing with bunches of flowers and posies in a riot of pastel colours. Jem stood transfixed, the delicately petalled scent and sight crashing in his mind against the brutal muddy-grey of the only world he had ever known. How long he stood there he didn’t know; all he knew was he could not tear himself away. The vision soaked into his soul like water into a feverish & parched throat.

Finally hunger once again overcame inertia; and he crept of on the hunt for the elusive bread stall. The vender was packing up when he found it and Jem realized his chance would be lost if he waited much longer. Seizing courage with both hands, he darted forward when the man turned his back, and grabbed a roll. Quick as greasy stew sliding down a gullet, he made off with his prise; turning his head back to see if he had been potted. It was then that he came to a shuddering stop, having run full tilt into the solid uniformed figure of a man; a “Bow Street runner”.

I see you boy! Your nicked" came a voice like vinegar, and Jem felt himself being lifted up on tip toe by his ear. For the rest of that day and night, Jem found himself locked securely in a wooden crate, until dim light came poking through the air holes to tell him dawn had come. It was to be a bruising trip on the back of a cart, but several hours later they stopped. Jem could see nothing but the vinegar voice was heard again, arguing with another. It was money being discussed, 15 pence being offered, before Jens was finally released. A strong bony hand pulled him out and shoved him roughly down into a cellar. It stank of soot. It was a darkness that enveloped Jem, so black that all hope would have been snuffed out. But hope was not dead, a vision had been planted and it blossomed in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic, if you can call it that...   
> Probably not going to get a lot of readers.  
> I did only write this as a school project after all...  
> Anywaaays, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
